Page 8 of Against the Clock

The elevator doors have closed in front of my face before I regain enough cognitive function to speak again.

“A date?” I echo.

To my surprise, a glimmer of embarrassment flits across his face and he shrugs his powerful shoulders. “Well, I should have done a better job asking you, if you are still confused about why I’m here. In fact, I should just start over.”

“I thought you were just being nice? After tackling me?” A date? My mind’s stuck on that word, a skipping song with two words.

Heat explodes through his gaze and he focuses all that intensity on me.

We’re alone in the elevator and he deliberately, slowly presses the red emergency stop button. The elevator grinds to a halt and I start to wonder if I need to go to the doctor, because I am once again breathless around this man.

My eyes get wide as he places one hand on the wall behind me, his body leaning so close to mine that I catch the spicy scent of expensive cologne: coriander and sandalwood, and something else beneath it, masculine and fresh.

I inhale deeply, wanting more.

He pushes a strand of my hair from my forehead, his thumb brushing against my temple as I watch him, unable to look away.

“Hi Kelsey,” he says in a low rumble, and he’s so close I can feel the vibration from his chest. “I’m Daniel Harrison. I’d like to take you on a date.”

“Uh-huh,” I say.

His lips quirk up at one side. “Do you want to go on a date with me?”

“Yep,” I reply breathlessly, and he lets out a low chuckle that makes my toes literally curl in my heels.

“Good,” he says. His face turns serious, his eyes still twinkling with humor. “But no funny business.”

“No funny business,” I agree, and I’ve never made a more idiotic ground rule in my life.

I would like the funny business. I would like all the funny business with this man, right now, in this elevator, at work.

I reach out from behind his huge body and press the emergency stop button, bringing the elevator back to life.

I do not need to start making bad choices in my work elevator.

Agreeing to this date might be a bad enough choice. I told myself I’d never, ever get involved with a pro sports player, much less a football player.

And Daniel Harrison?

I study his face, still inches away from mine, smiling like he finds my off-kilter self amusing. He is easily the most handsome man I’ve ever seen in my life, and I didn’t realize just how disarming all that was until now, stuffed in an elevator with him, wearing a suit and asking me on a date.

“I like you out of the football uniform.”

His eyebrows rocket up. “You trying to get me out of my clothes? You’re sending me mixed signals, Kelsey.”

I snort a laugh, some of the tightly wound sexual tension dissipating with his easy humor. He backs up and I take a deep breath as my ability to think clearly returns.

“So, do you want me to meet you at this place? I need to fill my car up—”

“Are you kidding? And deprive me of the opportunity to show off my hard-earned car to a beautiful woman?”

A blush heats my cheeks at the compliment. Out of all the women Daniel Harrison could date, I’m nowhere near the top of the pile. I mean, I think I’m pretty enough, but hell, he dated a Victoria’s Secret model a few years ago. They were splashed all over every magazine in the grocery store check-out for months.

“You can drive if you want to, though,” he says, clearly misinterpreting my silence.

The elevator dings and the doors slide open with a mechanical grind that lowers my confidence in the functionality of the elevator every time I use it. The fading fall light filters through the lobby of the USBC-Philly offices, hitting the marble floor at just the right angle to momentarily blind me.

When I look through the window, there’s something else nearly blinding me. A big white truck, the chrome trim sparkling.

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